


Becoming Friends

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffie Headcanons [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Headcanon, drunk!haymitch, the story of how they became friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Friends.” She let the word roll on her tongue. She didn’t have many of those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely Akachan for her beta

"Haymitch?" Her call was half a whisper and half a question. It was late - or very early depending on the way you looked at things - and the train lights were off, it would be a few hours before they reached the Capitol. Effie had been working late on schedules and had decided to ask the night staff for a cup of tea before going to bed, when the firelight had caught her eyes. It wasn't a real fire, of course, just a replica, but the living-room cart was seemingly empty and she could swear the fireplace hadn't been on when she had left for her bedroom earlier. "Haymitch, are you in there?"   
   
She didn't get an answer but she stepped into the room anyway. He wasn't hard to find in the end. He was right there, sprawled on the sofa, his head dangling precariously from the arm set. It couldn't be good for him in his state of inebriation to have all the blood flowing to his head. He reeked of alcohol. Sometimes she was convinced she could find him anywhere by the stench alone.

“You didn’t come to meet the tributes.” Her aggravated sigh was totally lost on him, like everything else that wasn’t a bottle of liquor. “I expect you at breakfast in the morning.” She had to introduce him to the two tributes as fast as possible, she had tried to track him down after the reaping but to no avail. For a while, she had even been afraid he wasn’t on the train but a member of staff had swore he had seen him so she had let it rest. “Haymitch, are you even listening to me?”

He clearly wasn’t : his eyes were closed, he was cradling his bottle like a mother her newborn son… He wasn’t asleep, though, his breathing wasn’t deep enough for that. “Haymitch, I swear on everything holy, if you die I will let you here.”

His body began to shudder, she was afraid he was having a seizure but a loud noise soon erupted from him and she realized, a heartbeat too late, that he was laughing. _At her_ , of course. “Really!” she huffed, crossing her arms.

His eyes were opened now and fixed on her but there was no mirth in them, just despair and, maybe, that latent madness she was often afraid would take over. “That would be like you.” His speech was slurred but given the two empty bottles laying beside the couch and the third in his arms, it was probably a miracle he was able to talk at all. “Leaving me to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous” she snapped. Because, really, they’d been working together for three years now and when exactly had she ever let him down? She did his paperwork, she made sure he was on time, clean and mostly sober – sober enough, at least – and she never asked as much of him as the other escorts did with their own victors.

“ _I_ am ridiculous, yeah... Sure.” He was still laughing. “Say, Princess… Do you know green is a sign of rot?” His hand shot out towards her, as if he wanted to touch her hair but fell down before she could even take a step back. She patted her mint green wig self-consciously, making sure it wasn’t crooked.

“You don’t appreciate fashion.” She learned that early on. The more make-up a person from the Capitol had on, the more likely Haymitch would be disagreeable. “It doesn’t change the fact that I expect you at breakfast tomorrow.” She leveled a stern stare at him until he sighed, knowing she wouldn’t relent. And she wouldn’t. Tributes needed a proper mentor. It was only fair.

“I hate that part” he mumbled, taking a huge swallow of wine. Some of it trickled down his jaw and she winced. “I _hate it_ , Trinket.”

“I know.” She was loose to touch him because the smell of alcohol was really pungent and she feared it would cling to her forever, but she still tugged a little at his knee. “Come on, Haymitch. Sit properly, you can’t stay with your head like that.”

“Not proper, is it?” he laughed again, a joyless laugh that, for some reason, broke her heart.

“That, and you will give yourself an aneurism or something.” She wasn’t really aware of what could happen in the brain…

“And that would be bad because…” He didn’t actually sit up but he let her help him to rest more suitably on the couch. She had to pull on his legs to do that and it was… weird. She was a very tactile person but he, on the other hand, definitely wasn’t, so he often dodged her touch and she wasn’t accustomed to the feel of his arms under her hands as she tried to help him settle. His muscles were firm under her fingers, she didn’t know why she was surprised, he was a strong man.

She had seen him drunk often enough but she had never cared for him like that before. She wondered why she even bothered, he would never do the same for her and it was only setting a dangerous precedent.

“Because the paperwork I would have to fill for that kind of event is absolutely tiresome” she replied.

He was watching her with a pondering look now. “Would you be sad? If I died.”

“What kind of question is that?” She was tired and there was still a little space left on the couch so she sat, her back pressed against his hip. “Of course I would be. Death is always sad.”

She thought he would laugh at her again but he only smiled and closed his eyes. “I hate that part. I look at them and I know they’re going to die and I know they know it too.”

She could have said that he couldn’t know for sure, that everyone had the same odds in the arena, but… That was a lie and they would both know it. This was her fourth year as District 12 escort. This was the fourth set of tributes she would send in the arena. This was the fourth set of tributes she would watch die. Some lasted longer than others. The year before, they had stayed alive until after the bloodbath, but they got killed at some point. They always got killed. The Careers almost always won the games. They were trained, they were better fed and they didn’t act like frightened children. There was a reason why Haymitch had been the only victor District 12 had in a long time.

“He’s only thirteen.” Her tired whisper made him look at her again, she rubbed at her eyes. “I hate when they’re so young.” But it never helped to dwell. “You should go back to your room and have some sleep. I will help you get there if you want.”

He didn’t answer, instead he clumsily brushed an unsteady hand against her cheek. “What do you look like underneath all that shit?”

She frowned at his appalling language but decided not to comment, it would be lost on him anyway. “Hideous.” _Plain_. That was her curse and her worst fear : being overlooked without all her wigs, make-up, heels and clothes.

“Human, then.” She wasn’t accustomed to that sort of gentleness in his voice. Who knew Haymitch Abernathy had a softer side? “I like you because you’re not like them. You’re not heartless, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be afraid to look the part.”

She lifted a perfectly drawn eyebrow. “Oh, you like me, now, do you?” He was so drunk he didn’t know what he was saying, that was the only logical explanation. She was sure insulting people and making fun of them all day long wasn’t the best way to show someone you appreciate them.

“We’re friends.” He said it as if it were obvious and a real bother to say it aloud. “I don’t like all my friends, though, but don’t go and tell.”

His eyes were glassy and she shook her head disapprovingly. She would have to make sure he got out of bed in time for breakfast, she had to add that to her schedule.

“Friends.” She let the word roll on her tongue. She didn’t have many of those. Lots of acquaintances, colleagues and people she had known for so long she called them _friends_ for lack of a better word but she wouldn’t trust them with the time of day… She didn’t have many friends. Not _close friends_ , at any rate. She had never desired for some either. People, in her line of work, were liabilities who would more often than not stab you in the back when you weren’t looking. You never knew who you could trust not to betray you. But Haymitch didn’t belong to her world. Maybe in District 12, you could have true friends, maybe it wasn’t as complicated as it was in the Capitol. Maybe in _his_ world, she could have a friend. “I would like that.”


End file.
